


Expectations

by lesmisjunkie



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:14:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25460752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesmisjunkie/pseuds/lesmisjunkie
Summary: Éponine writes Marius a very angsty love letter telling him that it's okay that he doesn't love her. She can imagine that he does, and it's good enough.
Relationships: Marius Pontmercy/Éponine Thénardier
Kudos: 7





	Expectations

Monsieur Marius,   
I had a dream about you last night. You held my hand. That was all, you didn’t kiss me, you barely even spoke, but your hand was so warm that I felt certain for most of this morning that it had been true. How cruel dreams are, to give you all you could ever want in the world and then tear it away so suddenly. 

I hadn’t thought of you in a long while, except perhaps for a moment when prompted. I had thought I was less in love with you yesterday than I was the last day we met. I had thought it had been a fleeting attraction that had left me when I stopped seeing your face. I was evidently wrong. 

In my childhood, I had the perfect idea of what love should be. It should be princess gowns and candlelight and dancing and jewelry and marriage and flowers and a plethora of little children in a nice house. I thought that that was what love was, but I think, perhaps, I was wrong. Maybe love is nothing more than a whispered illusion, the warmth of your hand against mine. 

In fairness, however, I have no use for princess gowns or candlelight or dancing or any of that if I do not have you, at least in some way. 

I am not afraid of you like I have been of others. I do not think you will break my heart. I am not for a second implying that I expect you to return my love, because I do not. I do not think that you will break my heart, because I can close my eyes and feel your hand on mine, and that is enough. One can hardly break your heart if you expect nothing more than you have already got on your own. 

You may remember once coming to my house for a party. More of an adult party than one for us, really, but you were there, and I was too. When you left, you hugged me. 

You had been sitting on the arm of a couch and I had been leaning against the doorframe. Your sister came in, she said that your family was ready to leave. You stood up, walked towards me, and hugged me with one arm. It was over far too quickly. This, I am now realising, was three years ago. 

You hugged me once, with one arm, for two seconds, three years ago. I think of that moment more than you can imagine. 

I must have been hugged by a hundred people that night. And let me tell you something- I hate hugs. I can’t stand them, really. But I don’t think I can imagine a memory dearer to me than that one. 

My point is this; if that fleeting moment from so long ago can make me so happy as it does even now, it is enough to survive upon. I do not need to be loved if to love is sufficient. 

I no longer wish for an epic love story. There is simply no need to waste one’s time on so unlikely a dream. 

I am one in eight billion. There is nothing about me that hundreds of millions of people do not have as well. I am quite simply not special. 

Why would you choose me? I would not dare to hope for it. 

As Icarus flew too close to the sun and melted his wings, I have learned not to do the same. I will settle for hovering a few feet off the ground, surviving by hallucinating your hand in mine. 

So, I am satisfied. I will look into your eyes for an extra second one day and that will be my sustenance for the month. My arm will brush yours accidentally, and the contact you won’t even notice, I shall cherish for as long as I live. 

Sincerely,   
One Who Shall Always Love You

**Author's Note:**

> So technically I didn't write this to be a fanfic or anything. This is a letter that I wrote to the boy I liked when I was ten years old. Six years later and I couldn't be more in love with him. When I found the letter, it reminded me of Éponine, so here we are.


End file.
